


All the World is a Stage

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.This won't kill him.
Relationships: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor
Kudos: 4





	All the World is a Stage

In the thirty-five years that are the sum total of his life, Danny has:

Had the chicken pox;  
Broken three separate bones on three separate occasions;  
Been in, not one, but three car accidents;  
Been stabbed;  
Had his wisdom teeth removed;  
And been shot at, more times than he can count.

All things considered, as far as his health goes, Danny's been pretty lucky. None of the above items have killed him, anyway.

And this likely won't kill him either, but it could. There's always the possibility of complications, after all, and complications can lead to death. Danny knows. He's done his research.

Granted, his research tells him that only one in every fifteen-thousand procedures ends in death, and only half of those in the five to seven days following the procedure, so he's already doubled his odds just by surviving the anesthesia, but there's still the possibly of bleeding to death, so Danny's not quite ready to call his being alive a victory.

In fact, he's not quite willing to call any of this a victory, because aren't tonsillectomies a thing of the past? Didn't they stop doing them years ago? Who the hell needs to have their tonsils removed these days anyway? Certainly not grown men, old enough to have escaped --with his organs intact, thank you very much-- the medical woes of childhood. And why the hell couldn't they just nuke the damn thing and be done with it?

There are some perks, of course. The jello is nice, as is the ice cream, not to mention the cute nurse who flirts mercilessly --and always when Martin's in the room and Danny's becoming rather found of the jealous growling noise Martin's taken to making.

There's the doting, too; Martin showering him with attention --and balloons, and flowers, and a stuffed little teddy bear that Danny (thankfully) managed to pawn off on the little girl three doors down-- Martin constantly at Danny's beck and call and Danny could get used to that. Really, he could.

The downside... well, boredom comes to mind, because Martin doesn't visit during the day --too busy working and doing things that Danny wishes he were doing-- and that leaves Danny with hours of mind numbing... nothingness. It could drive a person crazy, really it could.

He has another two days of this to endure, too, which only makes the the impending day seem that much longer. He's heard a rumour that today is popsicle day, though, so at least he has something to look forward to. Hopefully they'll have lime, otherwise he might just have to check himself out against medical advice.

Martin would likely kill him if he did, either that or he'd drag Danny (kicking and screaming) back to the hospital. The little girl three doors down underwent the same procedure, on the same day (two days ago) and she's already gone home. Apparently there's cause for 'concern' in adult patients. Danny suspects they're likely just trying to milk him of his (well paying) government health insurance.

Either that or Martin bribed the hospital, likely thinking that Danny would thank him for the extended vacation.

Sitting in a hospital bed, staring at the far wall, trying not to swallow, is not Danny's idea of a vacation.

~*~

He's taken to sleeping. Frequently. Mostly because he doesn't have anything better to do, but he also can't quite stop himself and Danny suspects that's directly related to the sugar crash. Danny's not used to sugar. Certainly not in the quantities he's eating here. Jello for breakfast. Ice cream for lunch. A popsicle for his afternoon snack (cherry and Danny's not impressed). If he's lucky, he'll get chicken broth for dinner.

He's not hungry, so Danny can't quite pinpoint what woke him. Something moving... a sound maybe and...

Ah, his door, Danny resigning himself to whatever examination he'll be forced to endure. Sometimes his doctor merely shines a light down his throat. Sometimes they check his blood pressure. Sometimes they take his blood. Danny's hoping for the first.

"Mr. Taylor? It's time for your sponge bath."

Danny can't quite stop himself from smirking.

It's a reflex, he knows, his lips moving of their own accord, twitching up at the corners and Danny swallows the urge to laugh at the obviously fake Swedish accent.

He doesn't say anything, mostly because he can't, his throat too raw and swollen to speak. Instead he shifts until he's seated, back pressed against the pillows, smirk firmly in place as he nods his assent.

Apparently there are other perks to an extended stay. In fact, this almost makes up for the cherry popsicle.

"I'll need you to remove your shirt."

Danny obliges, easily, swallowing against the discomfort in his throat before pulling his hospital gown up and over his head. He lets it fall onto the floor beside him, warm hands tugging back his covers and Danny shivers.

The water is cooler than he was expecting, Danny jumping at the first touch of the sponge, water beading on his chest, running down his sides to drip onto the mattress and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea.

He has to sleep in this bed, after all, the sheets quickly becoming damp, then wet, then soaked through. The hands moving against his chest remind him of why this is a good idea, though, the sponge rough, scratching at his skin, but its movement is echoed by a soft hand, soothing away the burn and leaving Danny's entire body tingling.

He groans something close to contentment, letting himself fall back into the pillows, shifting his hips until the blanket slips far enough down to reveal his boxers.

"These too, Mr. Taylor."

Danny finds himself laughing, arching up against impatient hands, the air in the room cool against his flesh. He shivers a second time, though not entirely from the cold. The water feels warm in contrast with the air, Danny settling back against the mattress, letting his knees splay wide, fighting against the urge to close his eyes as a wet, soap lathered hand slips between his legs.

It occurs to him then that he doesn't remember hearing the click of the lock. Danny tries to ask, but the words come out a grunt, rough sponge brushing against his erection and the thought is forgotten. In fact, all thought is forgotten, even where he is and what he's doing here, Danny lost to the feel of fingers and cloth, wetness and the sharp scent of soap.

It overpowers even the lingering scent of hospital, something Danny knows he should be thankful for. Even that thought doesn't register, two days entirely too long as far as Danny's concerned and it helps that he's always been a fan of green scrubs.

The blue ones would have been nice too, but Danny's fairly certain it doesn't matter. Not so long as there are hands moving against him, fingers curled around his length, stroking and squeezing, wet sponge even further back, rubbing absent circles against the underside of his ass.

The sheets, Danny suspects, are beyond repair.

He'll just have to ask for replacements, but not now, not when he's this close, right on the edge, climbing and climbing, inching slowly forward, his entire body tensing, toes curling and Danny bites his lip to keep from screaming.

The fall is almost painful.

His throat is raw and hoarse, vision swimming, limbs numb and tingling, but Danny doesn't care. He still has two days to get better, after all, and if this didn't kill him, then his lack of tonsils won't either.

"Please tell me you locked the door," Danny says the second he can manage it, the words coming out croaked, but Martin obviously understands.

"What do you take me for? An amateur?"

Danny can't help but laugh at that, regretting it immediately and Martin pauses in his cleanup, sponge stilling against Danny's stomach as he reaches over Danny's chest for the cup of ice chips resting on Danny's bedside tray.

"Here, drink."

Danny does, gladly.

Slips a piece of ice into his mouth to suck on before speaking again.

"So where'd you get the scrubs?" he asks, gesturing absently to Martin's clothes.

"Actually, I stole them," Martin answers, smile mischievous and Danny can't say that he's surprised.

They only talked about this once, after all, Danny sharing this particular fantasy shortly after scheduling his surgery and Danny knows attention to detail is one of Martin's more neurotic characteristics.

"I like. We should keep it," Danny answers after a moment, the words mumbled around a second mouthful of ice.

Martin merely laughs, but Danny knows he's already plotting how to get a second pair.


End file.
